Let The Hammering Begin

Blessed are the new beginnings, for we shall have a chance at a new start. A revised perspective. The beginning of a new day offers hope after an awful one. The start of a new administration in this country offers a welcome end to a hideous, idiotic one. The turning of the page from one year to the next beckons a fresh start. As impermanence teaches us, we accept the fog of uncertainty when we are swimming in it, trusting that clarity will eventually emerge.

The last five months have been productive in life and art. So productive, that i've had little time to write about it. I had great success with a prototype of 10,000 nails on a 2' x 5' panel. The smaller sized nails worked. The varied types of wood worked. The panel came together and i was able to display it at our kids' elementary school. The annual "Festival de Otoño/Day of the Dead" was an appropriate setting, as it is the continual source of deeper inspiration for this piece. People of all ages looked at it, touched it, wound and wove red thread throughout the nails as they tried to grasp the enormity of this event, the place where it happened and the memorial aspect of the proposed piece. i was told that two men stood over it and spoke of family relations to those who died in Hiroshima and in German concentration camps of WWII. I heard teachers explaining to students the importance of remembering the spirits of others who are gone. Friends and acquaintances were moved, inspired and visually compelled. The chance to have the public contemplate this panel, touch it and interact with it was an experiment that worked, that propelled my efforts, that said to me "yes, this is doable. This is important."

Loving skeptics in my life have offered these comments recently:

"Did you finally give up on the nail idea?"
"You're not still going to do that, are you?"
"I still don't understand the reason for doing this."

Again, i love these questions. I need these questions to float to the surface now and again for pause and reflection. And i respond with this:

I have reached the age where i emphatically appreciate how art can function as a window to history. A gateway to history. History's caretaker. And once in a while, it may even play the role of momentary healer to a people's or a landscape's history.

And so, with resolve, i move forward. It is time. Also, there are so many other artistic endeavors and ideas that have grown from this journey that, i want to complete this piece so that i can embark on another, if i'm lucky enough to have that opportunity.

The prototype (see photos) worked on many levels. I realized that i can do this with a drastically reduced budget. The work space on the side of our house and in our garage is perfect and free. I have two storage options for completed panels...both, free. I am overflowing with recycled wood. Again, free. Costs that i had anticipated before are not necessary. The only expense over the next 3 months is nails, wood glue and varnish. For Jan-Feb-March are the 3 best months of this year that i can hammer and get all 800,000 nails into wood. The time has come.

And time will tell, as it always does, whether this hammering is putting the cart before the proverbial horse in the construction aspect of it. But, this is the time that i have to hammer, and hammer i must. As a folk artist, i trust that i will be able to attach the panels together even after the nails have been hammered, not before. That's a bit scary, but, as my friend Brett (a helluva worker who i had the honor of working with on many films) once said: "It's always best to start a new project with a bit of fear inside you." It forces one to rise to the surface and accomplish feats that one may never have accomplished before. it challenges one to push into new, unknown territories and be successful there.

Happy New Year. Let the hammering begin...

A Follow-Up to "The Effects of Repetitive Motion"

In updating this journey, five months later, i revisited the previous entry about the toll taken on a body that works in fields requiring repetitive physical motion. I make no attempt here to actually compare my work to that of the "strawberry picker, an assembly line worker and the factory seamstress" except to say that, when hammering, i get a glimpse of what they must feel and, i honor their efforts. In fact, glaring differences exist:

i am an artist by choice.
i am working at home, 14 blocks from the pacific ocean.
i work in fresh, cool air, under the shade of a tree.
i am doing this out of emotional and historical necessity, not an economic one.
10 steps away is a refrigerator with cold water any time i want it.
15 steps away is my choice of 2 bathrooms, clean and available, any time i need it.
i can listen to music that inspires me while i work.
i can rest when i want to or when i need to.
i can see my kids thriving after school at 2:30p, when i put the hammer down to go pick them up.

i have privilege and choice here. those who work tirelessly in the least popular occupations often have little or none of these options. it felt important to take a moment to acknowledge these differences.